One of the most vitalizing aspects of sharing Les Pierres with others must be its essence of bequeathing, not just visually with a beauty that never fails to excel, no matter what, but in its surpassing hospitality of offering all visitors what’s available right at the moment of their attendance, the true richness of being blessed with unconfined creativity at ones fingertips, barely having to make an effort, unpretentious precooked perfectness.
Yesterday we celebrated a visit from unknowingly known almost-neighbors, a friend I last connected with twenty seven years ago when we collaborated in a experimental theater project that more or less commenced our careers as playwrights, though mine pales in comparison to hers in productivity and success, being the most performed Dutch playwright abroad, and I do say this without an ounce of jealousy but with interminably more than a pound of pride, still having vivid memories of our shared background, designed to make us all shine.
Turns out we divvied more than just that, as she also chose Le Berry to become an important part of the intrinsic fabric that weaves a true and lasting home, exactly at the same time we did, eight years ago, without mutual knowledge of each others presence here whatsoever.
I’m quite used to having one of my past voices talking back to me with words I invented for them, often with an if-only-I-had kind of tone of regret and sometimes even spite, which is why I arm myself preamtively against disappointment, but this visit grabbed my heart in an unexpected way: having this particular past suddenly so close changes everything, and at the same time nothing really: a joint enchantment will continue to long to be shared uncurbed.
I have many more cakes to bake!
